Hail to the R'lyeh dominance sleeping beneath the 
Pacific waves of salt.
Master of the Great Old Ones resting patiently for the 
days of global territorial reclamation,
fulfilling the legacies of all the world's forbidden 
manuscripts. One day he will come as the
Armageddon Angel leaving in his wake the sunken ancient 
continent and the black city's towers pointing
towards his birthplace Vhoorl; the Cthulhi spawn flying 
out with the monsoon winds spreading their terror
over the lands of man, slaughtering all which lacks the 
divine blood. Telepathically I link into the
cryogenic glacial substance beneath the planets 
floating salt and descend into the being's hostile 
dreamland,
the Chorazin outskirts, where I am considered an 
interim temporal occupant with exceptional privileges
and unmatched skills. Beings except me as their master 
obeying their creator, but descended from another
branch of gods; admiring me with a sharpened edge of 
in litany.
I am their alien messiah, hated and adored. Ashen 
gravel whirls around under my feet,
as I fly myself towards the liquid pantheon, centered 
in the forbidden sector of the extensive Cthulhu id.
A transparent shape, pulsating at the rhythm of the 
synapse, rises in the land where dawn and dusk are one.
My followers have stopped along the way, afraid of the 
destruction that awaits them in this region.
But my soul has reached the temple and my hands have 
touched the membrane of the
sphere. And I step in. The Chorazinworld now savagely 
distorted, by the treacly substance that eddied
around my skin, but never touched it. I know where I 
am, though it's all unknown to me.
I know now what to do, and I render the awakening. In 
praise of Cthulu, the gatekeeper is here!
And I cut the astral cord, embedded in the awakening 
God, and rose above the surface of the dark Pacific
Ocean. R'lyeh has returned!